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back to wild
by Kristina Woodhillbeside the old homestead the orange flowers burst and bloom
the early days of March light up, diminishing the gloom
dear Mommie, you might weep to see your rotting aged home
I focus on the quince and see your smile in every bloom
for there must be some mighty secret locked inside the quince
I've found no key to enter, nor to tease each thorny branch;
to try to reach its hiding place, the knife strains through to cut
one feels this fruit began its life with dreams to be a nut
songs rain down a' drumming on that old metallic roof
the starlings in the attic punctuate with mimicked quips
impatiently we strain to hear the bees awake and stir
imagining their honey swirling through the teas we sip
it's all grown back to wild since you've been gone
the goldenchaintree waits for May, its limbs the lichens drape
like loosely tangled hair that's combed out coarsely by the rain;
a transplant, just like you - though not a Pennsylvania pearl
it's yellow chains could never match the glow of your red curls
for there must be some mighty secret locked inside that tree
a few old branches hanging on the trunk determinedly,
late spring it transforms that old yard with elegance and charm
I feel you waltzing softly with the breeze upon my arm
songs rain down a' splashing on the sandstone path you laid
that tired old organ sleeps now deep inside your sitting room
around the flower bed wet notes ping-ting, clear music played
a melody of memories awash with your sweet tune
its all grown back to wild since you've been gone
lately, though, I have to tell you, family has come
a new house sits a stone's throw from your creaking, sagging home;
Poppie now is cared for, and the brambles have been pruned
the grape vines sense direction, and the yard is neatly groomed
for there must be some mighty secret locked inside this land
that keeps a steady tension pushing hard against our hands;
this ticking clock of glacial green returns each time we leave
oblivious to pains or joys of tapestries we weave
songs rain down and groove the ground around the old sawmill
oil cloths cover steady blades that pine for Poppie's touch
rumored bears leave scat behind and turkeys range the hills
the oak galls shaped like balls get kicked and under foot snap-crunch
it all grows back to wild when we are gone
where you've gone we'll all soon follow
where you've gone we trace the tracks
footprints dance the fields and hollows
overlaid and buried
as we who sing the now soon join the past
03/25/2009
Author's Note: 'Mommie' was my mother-in-law.
Posted on 03/25/2009
Copyright © 2024 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 03/26/09 at 12:08 AM Kristina, this is such a lovely tribute to both you and your mother and a way of life that seems to often to something way in the past. Very well done, m'lady. |
| Posted by Charles E Minshall on 03/26/09 at 04:27 AM Lovely Kris......CharMin |
| Posted by Tom Goss on 03/26/09 at 06:18 PM Words, gloriously distilled into a perfectly sweet elixir. A beautiful heartsong. |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 03/27/09 at 12:41 AM Beautiful, beautifully written nostalgia. Poignantly descriptive of place and human condition. Ends in such a wonderfully philosophical note. Excellent writing - as usual. |
| Posted by Tony Young on 03/27/09 at 10:06 PM You have put so much work into this piece, I particularly love the line "like loosely tangled hair that's combed out coarsely by the rain;". I see the respect you held for this lady and the title saying [we miss you] says it all...
Beautifull work Kristina... |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 03/29/09 at 06:06 PM "it all grows back to wild when we're gone" So true. It's only our tending that brings some sort of order out of the chaos of wildness. There are too many excellent lines to cite them all. This is gorgeous in its entirety! |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 03/29/09 at 07:12 PM Yikes! This is gorgeous! Your "finale" is ponderous and fitting. Nice work, a pleasure to read. Thanks. |
| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 03/29/09 at 07:19 PM tears splashing down my face
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| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 03/29/09 at 07:20 PM I will want to get back with you on this... |
| Posted by Jared Fladeland on 03/29/09 at 08:29 PM Quite gorgeous |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 04/05/09 at 08:12 PM Laced with sentiment, but not at all pathetic natural imagery interspersed with colours of humour, and rhythmically crafted to a high standard. Poetry to relish Kristina :) |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 08/16/09 at 12:13 AM Kristina, I am just about bowed over by this. You have such a unique gift (captured a bit in Greg's recent poem) of winding nature into a human story. Your present awakens souls too soon to fly - lifting from earthly roots but still remembered there - if we are lucky enough to a daughter in law or a poet friend like you to observe and remember... blessed poem... blessings be upon you, dear lady. |
| Posted by William Brunk on 09/30/09 at 10:05 PM that last line lingers so well...so true. right on the money.
great write |
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